Vanity Quest
by Rozozzy
Summary: Mortimer takes every lead he can get that will lead him to Bella.


People do not get abducted using Astrowonder telescopes.

Ever.

Every single documented alien abduction in Pleasantview, Veronaville, and even goddamn _Strangetown_ has only occurred with a Farstar e3. Not an Astrowonder. Mortimer knows this. He has spent days, _weeks,_ researching supernatural occurrences from aliens to vampires to witches, and none of the information he has regarding Bella's disappearance lines up with an alien abduction.

Which is why Mortimer has to resist punching Don Lothario in his sleazy, arrogant face as he arrives at his doorstep and bangs his fist on the door. Don Lothario opens it, wearing a jaded expression as he throws his hands up in the air.

"I don't wanna cause any more trouble with Cassandra," Don tells him. "It's done. We broke up. I am not interested in her anymore. Soooo just lay off, man."

Mortimer scowls. "You _left her at the altar_ ," he points out, his voice low with suppressed fury. He adjusts his bowtie and gives himself a moment to breathe. "But that's not why I'm here."

Don cocks his head, and he lazily rests his shoulder on the door frame. He scratches his beard. "It's not?"

"I just heard a rumor that you were the last person to see Bella," Mortimer says, and it's all he needs to say to catch Don stumbling on his feet, nearly falling forward, and Mortimer takes a step back in hopes that Don's pretty face will collide right onto the pavement. It doesn't, and Don clears his throat as he attempts to regain his cool.

"Listen," Don begins carefully, "that was years ago, and I dunno what happened to her. I swear. "

"Your telescope," Mortimer says, "is it a Farstar?"

Don eyes shift around, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Uhhh aren't those the super fancy ones?" he says. Mortimer nods. "Nah. They're too expensive." Mortimer rubs his temples as Don slowly backs into his house. "Look," Don continues, "I really don't know what the hell happened to her. She didn't wanna make out with me, so I went back inside and—"

"You were _hitting on my wife_?" Mortimer barks out, his voice trembling with rage.

"And she remained loyal to you!" Don says quickly, flashing an uneasy smile. "You bagged yourself a keeper, old man. I definitely thought a lady like her was only with you for the money. I mean, she's _gorgeous_ and you're, well..."

Mortimer clenches his fists and shuts his eyes for a second, and he forces himself to swallow a heavy gulp of air. "Just tell me what you saw," he says, an exasperated sigh expelling from his cheeks.

"So like I said," Don says, "I went back inside to blow off some steam with the Caliente sisters. I was gone for maybe an hour? I totally forgot she was here and when I remembered, I went back to the deck to check on her." Don's expression falters. "But she was gone. I didn't see or hear _anything._ No flashing lights, no tractor beams, no cries for help… not even the sound of a door opening and closing." Don shrugs his shoulders and glimpses up at the sky. "Who knows, man."

Mortimer holds a steady glare. "Did Dina or Nina see anything?"

Don purses his lips together and rubs the side of his face. "I mean, they couldn't have," he says, and he seems genuine about the whole thing. "They were with me the whole time, so I doubt it."

Mortimer gives Don a curt nod. "Thank you," he tells him quietly, and he turns around and begins to walk away. In the middle of his stride, Mortimer pauses to take one last glance at Don. "Also," he adds, "stay away the hell away from my daughter."

Don just laughs.

* * *

Dina Caliente makes him forget. She makes him forget about Bella, makes him forget about the heartache and crippling loneliness, makes him forget about the contradictory pieces of data that don't seem to quite add up when it comes to unraveling the mystery of his wife's disappearance. He feels like a failure whenever he sees Bella's pictures on the walls; it's a constant reminder that no matter how much knowledge he has, it isn't enough to finding the truth. Not even close.

Dina's kissing him on his couch when a thought suddenly strikes him, and he stops her just as she's about to pull him by his shirt collar.

"Wasn't your father an alien?" Mortimer asks, brows furrowing.

Dina blinks. "What?" she says, dumbfounded. Mortimer stares at her intently, and she releases a noticeable sigh. "Grandpa Nestor used to always say that he got abducted by aliens," she tells him, "and he claims that he gave birth to my dad." She shudders at the thought. "But my dad didn't even look like an alien!"

Dina rolls her eyes and presses a hand against her face. "Honestly, I think Grandpa liked to make up stories," she admits. Dina snorts. "I mean, there's _no way_ I'm part alien. That's like, some Strangetown level of absurdity."

Mortimer furrows his brows, sinking further into his musings. Dina attempts to steal back his attention with idle kisses, but he gets up from the couch and begins to pace around the room. Dina groans, frustrated as she spreads out on the couch. She folds her arms across her chest, and ponders whether she should wait it out or leave and come back tomorrow.

Mortimer doesn't even notice when she slams the front door.

* * *

Amy Jones knocks on the window of 165 Sim Lane, rather than simply dropping the newspaper off at the doorstep and moving on to next house. Mortimer is just about to put a pancake slice into his mouth, and an irritated mutter leaves his breath as he places his fork back onto his plate. He drags himself out of his chair and opens the door. Rubbing his tired eyes, Mortimer gives Amy a halfhearted glare.

"What?" he snaps, though he doesn't really mean to.

Amy jolts, and she scrambles for a newspaper inside her shoulder bag. "H-here!" she sputters, voice squeaking as she shoves the roll of newsprint into Mortimer's hands. "I was reading the paper," Amy tells him, "and on page seven, in the bottom lefthand corner… it's really easy to miss… but there's something you need to see…"

Mortimer shuffles through the newspaper, eyes scanning the seventh page in detailed scrutiny and then growing wide when he sees it. A headline.

 _BELLA GOTH SIGHTING IN STRANGETOWN_

Mortimer gives Amy a $10,000 tip before she leaves.

* * *

"I don't know if you should leave," Cassandra tells Mortimer as he is on his knees, packing his bags. "Moving to another neighborhood—to _Strangetown_ of all places—could have far-reaching consequences. You might see things you don't want to see… learn things you don't want to learn. It's best to just move on. Not everything needs an explanation."

Mortimer doesn't say a single word, and Cassandra crosses her arms and huffs. "Dad?" she says, narrowing her eyes. "Are you even listening to me?"

"You may be correct," Mortimer says, "but there is always an explanation for everything." His eyes lock onto Cassandra. "I mourned your mother for a long time, and I've moved on from her. But, I haven't moved on from what happened _to her._ I have to know what happened." He shakes his head, and his voice fades into a defeated murmur. "I need to know."

Cassandra kneels beside her father and touches his shoulder with her hand. "I don't care what you say," she says. "I still think you're not over her. Not completely."

"I just want the truth."

Cassandra sighs, her voice low. "The truth could corrupt you."

* * *

He leaves behind Cassandra to take care of Alexander. Cassandra doesn't mind, and he partially thinks it's because she knows his days are numbered regardless of whether or not he leaves. He thinks she was always meant to look after Alexander, eventually, and he thinks that deep down, she knew this too.

He leaves behind Alexander, without a mother and now, without a father. He promises to return, but in reality, Mortimer does not know if he will ever find out the truth, if he will ever come back to Pleasantview. He knows Alexander knows this, but Alexander doesn't say anything, and neither does he.

He leaves behind Dina, who seems to be taking it harder than anyone else. He does love her, and it hurts to leave her, but he cannot love her as much as he loves Bella. And though Bella might be gone, Mortimer isn't going to let this window of opportunity slip beyond his reach, even if it means hurting Dina. Even if it means losing her.

And it does.

He moves in at 57 Road to Nowhere. He knows that as the only occupant of the house, he doesn't really need all these rooms. But he likes large homes and the feeling of isolation they give. Mortimer values his space, his empty, vast, brooding space. This is as close to the likeness of home as he is going to get, and he takes it.

Mortimer has the name and address of a Strangetown scientist after a couple of hours of digging online. He has the name of the person who claims to have seen Bella; her name and the headline remains as a torn piece of newspaper folded in the pocket of his pants. Mortimer doesn't know where these leads will take him.

He's about to find out.

* * *

"I can assure you that our telescope is a Farstar e3," Pascal Curious tells Mortimer as he stands mere feet away. Pascal uses his index finger to slide his glasses up his nose. "After all, only the best telescope can attract extraterrestrial beings." He laughs. "One cannot get abducted with a rudimentary Astrowonder. It is quite impossible. Everyone who studies aliens knows that. However…"

Pascal drums his fingers on the side of his thigh, his eyes drifting off to the side. "I think there are accounts of people getting abducted using the ElectroDance Sphere," he continues. "But that only happens with people who have been abducted at least once before."

"And you have been abducted by aliens?" Mortimer asks, shifting his weight forward and absorbing this information like a kitchen sponge.

Pascal's face contorts into a quizzical expression, and he almost looks offended. He places a hand to his heart. "Of _course._ In fact, my brother, Vidcund, is currently having an alien encounter at this _very moment._ He should be returning within three hours."

"Only three hours…" Mortimer utters to himself. If that is the case, Bella should have returned home a long time ago, if she had been abducted. Mortimer shifts his attention back to Pascal. "What was it like to be abducted by aliens?"

Pascal crosses his arms, and a long sigh blows out from his pursed lips. "They probe you, impregnate you, and return you home, safe and sound. _Honestly_ Mortimer, there are a _number_ of documented accounts that describe the process. The entire experience is rather homogenous. Look online at the Strangetown Archives and see for yourself. I have recently published my own piece that goes into further detail, if you're interested."

Mortimer reaches over to scratch the back of his neck. "None of this makes any sense in regards with what could have happened to Bella."

He takes a step back and frowns at the ground beneath him. Mortimer leans his weight against the wall and folds his arms across his chest. Pascal raises a hand to his chin, falling into deep contemplation. The space between the two of them is veiled in pensive silence, and it remains this way until Pascal cuts through it with his careful words.

"Indeed," he says, "none of what you had told me points to a conventional alien encounter. _Unfortunately,_ I do not think I have any other information that could lead to a possible conclusion." He whips out a pen and pad from his back pocket and hastily scribbles something down. He rips off the top note and offers it to Mortimer, who removes himself from the wall so he can reach for it. "This is the address of a former Pollination Technician. If there was anyone in this neighborhood who would have some knowledge that could guide you in the right direction, it would be him."

Mortimer inhales a deep sigh. It seems that each new piece of information takes him further away from the truth. The more he finds out, the less he actually knows.

Pascal springs forth and shakes Mortimer by his shoulders. "I have an idea!" he exclaims. "If you want, you can use my telescope to get abducted and see for yourself! Perhaps you will find your wife?"

"No, I don't think that would help," Mortimer admits, "especially if I am simply going to be probed the entire time."

Pascal's face drops and he hangs his head. "Oh. Of course." He glimpses up at Mortimer and gives him a firm handshake. "I wish you the best of luck on your search."

* * *

Mortimer leans forward in his chair as Pollination Tech#9 slides a plate of grilled hot dogs in front of him. Pollination Tech#9 takes a seat across Mortimer and grabs a hot dog. When he notices Mortimer staring blankly at his cooking, he pushes the plate of hot dogs even further towards him. Mortimer glances up, and Pollination Tech#9 bores into him with his black, beady eyes and a toothy smile. Mortimer reaches for a hot dog and bites into it, and Pollination Tech#9 leans back in his chair, content.

Pollination Tech#9's wife, Jenny, places a glass pitcher of orange juice on the table and slips into the chair next to her husband. "It's so nice to have you come visit us!" she beams. "We haven't had the chance to welcome you to the neighborhood yet, so it's wonderful that you stopped by." She gestures at the pitcher of orange juice with her hand, and Mortimer feels compelled to pour himself a glass. "What brought you to our little desert community?"

Mortimer takes a sip of orange juice. "My wife disappeared," he explains. "Bella Goth. She was last spotted here in Strangetown. I came here to see if I could find her." He can't stop his gaze from lingering at the alien in front of him. "Many people believe she was abducted by aliens, but all the evidence I have gathered says otherwise. I was hoping you had some information that could assist me in my investigation."

Pollination Tech#9 lifts an eyebrow and shoots Jenny a sideways glance. Jenny steals a peek of her husband through the corner of her eye and then abruptly shoves a hot dog in her mouth. Pollination Tech#9 folds his hands together and narrows his gaze.

"I wish I could help," he begins, "but I have lost contact with my fellow technicians for many years. I'm afraid I don't have much to offer." He gives Mortimer a sympathetic smile. "But I will do my best to answer your questions."

Mortimer nods. "What can you tell me about alien abductions?" he asks, and he can't stop himself from rolling out the thoughts that are buzzing inside him. "Do you abduct people for a long period of time? Is it possible to be abducted using an Astrowonder telescope? Have you ever dropped off an abductee at a location different from where they were taken?"

Pollination Tech#9 taps his chin. "No. Rarely. No—except in the event of a crash. But obviously, that is purely accidental."

Mortimers practically bangs his fists on the table. "So it _is_ possible to be abducted using an Astrowonder?"

Pollination Tech#9 nods. "Rarely," he repeats. "We tend to not take notice of those using that small a telescope. It always escapes our attention. When we do happen to take notice, it's almost as if some divine force compelled us to. However, the odds are so rare that it's not even worth mentioning."

He rubs the bottom of his chin with his knuckles. "In all my years as a Pollination Technician, I have never seen an abductee who hadn't been using a Farstar e3 or ElectroDance Sphere. I think it happened to a friend of mine, but he has been long dead." Pollination Tech#9 points to the pile of hot dogs with his index finger. "Please, eat more hot dogs."

Mortimer isn't hungry, but he takes another one anyways.

Jenny hums, appearing deep in thought. "You know," she interjects, "we _did_ have a UFO crash here a few years back. Remember that, Paul?"

"To my knowledge, everyone on that spaceship died," Pollination Tech#9 says, brows furrowed. He looks at Mortimer and shakes his head in dismay. "If you really believe that your wife is somewhere in Strangetown, your best bet would be to find her yourself to get the answers you need. Only she would be the one capable of giving you closure."

Jenny bites her bottom lip and props her elbow onto the table. She rests her cheek against the palm of her hand. "If she's been missing for years, you might be on a wild goose chase," she says, a sigh trickling out of her. "I have yet to see her, and I practically know every resident in Strangetown."

"Someone saw her," Mortimer says, attempting to mask the desperation in his voice. "It was in the papers last week."

Jenny makes a slight frown and then gasps. "Oh! I think Johnny's girlfriend might've seen her? He mentioned she was in the paper for something. That could be it. I can give you her address if you want to talk to her."

Mortimer takes out the ripped section of newspaper he carries within his pocket. He rereads the name of the person who claims to have spotted Bella. "Is her name Ophelia, by any chance?" he asks, a tint of hesitancy in his tone.

Jenny nods. "Yup! That's her."

Mortimer nearly falls back in his chair.

* * *

13 Dead End Lane.

The home of Ophelia Nigmos. The home of the only person who has been reported to have seen Bella in the last four years. Mortimer appreciates the outdoor garden and the cemetery that reminds him of his former estate. He rings the doorbell. An old woman opens the door and tilts her head in curiosity, her long, gray hair swishing around.

"I haven't seen you in Strangetown before," the woman remarks. "Who might you be?"

"I just moved into town," Mortimer tells her. "My name is Mortimer Goth. Are you Ophelia Nigmos?"

An airy laugh escapes her. "No," she says. "I'm Olive Specter, her aunt." Olive studies Mortimer, eyes scanning him from head to toe as her eyes light up with intrigue. "Mortimer _Goth,_ you said?" Olive begins taking tiny steps around him and taps her index finger to her chin. "Ah yes. Now I know why your name sounds so familiar. The Goths are notorious for being wealthy… the wealthiest family in SimCity, I hear."

Mortimer stares at Olive with a hardened expression, and he says nothing.

"But that's not all you're notorious for, is it?" Olive continues, a playful smirk dancing upon her lips. "Someone from your family disappeared without a trace, am I right?" Mortimer's breath hitches, and Olive's smirk broadens. "What was her name? Betty?"

"Bella," Mortimer corrects. "My wife."

Olive lifts her chin up in amusement. "Is that why a _silver fox_ such as yourself wants to talk to my niece?" she asks. Mortimer gives her a small nod. Olive smiles, and she gestures with her arm for Mortimer to come inside. "I'll go fetch her. Just wait a couple minutes, mkay?"

Ophelia has blonde hair braided in tiny dreadlocks, and her green eyes focus onto Mortimer as she enters the room. She freezes in place as Mortimer's eyes dart straight at her. "You… wanted to talk me?" she asks cautiously, her fingers twitching at her sides. "About Bella?"

"Yes!" Mortimer says, nearly leaping in the air. He coughs and regains his composure, waving his hand at Ophelia as her cue to speak. "Please."

Ophelia rubs the side of her arm and leans her shoulder against the wall. She pauses for a moment before speaking. "I think it was was around 10 PM," she says slowly. "I just finished swimming and was ready to go back home. When I left the pool, I saw a woman sitting along the curb of the sidewalk, looking at the stars. She had long, black hair and a fancy, red dress." Ophelia scratches her head. "I took my eyes off her for like a second to pick up my towel that had fallen to the floor. When I looked back over my shoulder, she was gone."

Mortimer's heart flutters, and he swears he can feel his eyes bulge out of their sockets. He leans forward. "What is the address of the place you saw her at?" he asks.

Ophelia ponders for a moment. "94 Road to Nowhere," she says after a few seconds. "It's the only location in town with a public pool."

"Thank you," Mortimer says, face lighting up and eyes reflecting gratefulness. His heart nearly pounds through his chest. "I think that's her. It has to be."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Ophelia warns Mortimer as he makes his way for the front door. "Apparently no one else in town has seen her except me. I didn't even know it was her until after the fact." She sighs. "It's such a shame. I always thought Bella Goth was just a myth. It would've been cool to talk to her."

"I've waited too long for this," Mortimer tells Ophelia. He turns the knob and swings open the door. "I am too close to the truth to give up now. I will wait until the day I die if that's what it takes to solve this mystery. I _will_ find out what happened to Bella."

Ophelia tightens her lips in skepticism as Mortimer heads out. Olive waves goodbye to Mortimer as he leaves their property. When he reaches the gates, Olive calls out to him from the front porch.

"Feel free to come back whenever you want!"

* * *

Two years.

Two years of sitting out every night, two years of waiting until the sun rises in the morning, two years of his chest fluttering in anticipation at the thought of seeing her again. That resolve he once had is wearing thin. That spark he had, which ignited a fire inside him, is the very fire that is burning him out.

Pascal encourages him to get abducted by aliens from time to time, but Mortimer doesn't want to run the risk of missing Bella in case she appears. Pascal will sometimes drop by as Mortimer waits in the dead of night, and he will point out constellations to him. They will talk about ghosts and werewolves and other paranormal sightings, and Mortimer couldn't ask for a better friend who understands his thirst.

Pollination Tech#9 and Jenny invite him over every Sunday for a barbecue, and Ophelia occasionally happens to be there from time to time. It's ironic. Somehow being around Pollination Tech#9 and his family derails Mortimer from his thoughts about Bella and aliens, even if it's only for a little while.

Whenever he crosses paths with Olive at the supermarket, she attempts to flirt with him and asks why he hasn't come to visit her yet. He will never flirt back, much to her dismay. Whenever she's around, he can feel Death's icy stare from afar, as if her smile is a chilling reminder of time catching up to him, as if she is hiding something. Something he doesn't want to know.

He misses Cassandra and Alexander, and he sends them letters while they send him photographs. Mortimer misses Dina too, but they do not speak anymore. They are hardly acquaintances now. They might as well be strangers.

He checks the newspaper every day. He scrutinizes every headline, every sentence, every word for something that may clue him in on Bella's whereabouts, but he always turns up empty handed.

Two years, and he is losing hope.

* * *

" _Bella!_ "

Mortimer's voice cracks as he shouts, and his lungs nearly give out as he charges blindly under the dim glow of the moon. The woman in the distance halts in her tracks, glancing over her at him as her face remains frozen in bewilderment. Mortimer wraps his arms around her shoulders in a desperate embrace, and he could almost snap her in half. He tries not to collapse all of his weight onto her delicate frame, but it's so difficult not to; it's so difficult not to cry and so he does. He cries and his tears fall onto her neck and shoulders, and he looks up because he wants to see her face, her beautiful face.

"Who are you?" she utters, squirming uncomfortably within his grasp.

Mortimer's eyes widen. That _voice_. He releases his grip and takes a step back, mouth parted in shock. He takes a moment to examine her features, the confusion plastered across her face. That _face_. An aching pain sputters inside his chest, and this time, he represses his urge to cry.

"You're not Bella," Mortimer spits out, gritting his teeth and allowing the bitterness to seep from every inch of his tone.

The woman in front of him laughs gently in confusion, and the sound of her laugh is not Bella's, and the way her expression forms when she smiles is not Bella's. Her hair is black like Bella's and the way it waterfalls down her neck is like Bella's. Her eyes are brown like Bella's, but they are not soft like Bella's, and they don't remind him of the almonds they used to eat together when they were kids. She wears Bella's red dress and Bella's gold necklace and Bella's stockings, but she is not Bella.

"I am Bella," the woman says, blinking, and Mortimer can't shake just how _different_ her voice sounds.

"If you were _really_ Bella," Mortimer hisses, eyes blazing, "you would have remembered me. But you are _not_ Bella. You are a copycat. An identity thief. A fake."

The woman lolls her head and crosses her arms. "It isn't fair to base the validity of my identity on whether or not I know you," she says. "I am who I say I am." She frowns. "And I don't have to put up with you harassing me just because I am not who you were expecting." She turns and begins to walk away, but Mortimer reaches out to grab her hand. She snatches it back and whips around to shoot him a nasty glare.

"I'm sorry," Mortimer murmurs. His face softens, and so does hers. "You don't understand how long I've wanted to find her."

The woman rubs the back of her neck. "You miss her a lot," she points out.

"I… I just want to know what happened to her."

The woman sighs, the look on her face drowning in sympathy, but also helplessness. She hugs herself as her gaze wanders up at the ocean of stars. "I am Bella Goth," she tell him. "Maybe I'm not your Bella, or maybe I am? But either way… it's clear that I am not who you hoped I'd be." Her eyes lock with Mortimer's. "I don't have many memories. Or friends. I keep to myself because I'm afraid that whatever happened to me—whatever made me this way—will happen again."

Mortimer steps forward. "I can help you," he says, pleading with his eyes. "We can figure this out. Together."

The woman shakes her head and takes a step back. Her attentions points to the ground, and she sinks further into herself. "I don't want your help," she tells him. "I don't trust you. I want people to stop looking for me. I don't want _them_ to find me." Her voice trembles as she speaks. "I just want to be left alone."

Mortimers swallows a heavy lump down his throat. "...Bella?"

"I'm not your Bella," she says, inhaling a deep breath and piercing Mortimer with her sorrowful eyes. "And if I was… I'm not anymore."

Mortimer stands there, powerless, as the woman slowly backs away, until her figure vanishes into a silhouette coated in darkness. He then falls to his knees and grinds his fists onto the pavement, watching as teardrops paint the concrete with his sadness, with his failure.

" _The truth could corrupt you."_

He hasn't even uncovered the truth in its entirety—far from it—and yet he feels that it already has.

 _Fin._


End file.
